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So a chapter in our lives has come to a close.
Our loving rooster, known in some social circles as “Balls,” went to be with his gracious Lord on Saturday night. We’ve had some great times with Balls. After all, he was our first cock. And Balls died of natural causes, in a way. Causes caused by nature.
The worst part about all this: We think it may have been… MURDER
Balls was found in the garage with his face eaten off, including the waddles I so lovingly thawed only a few weeks prior. The perp left all the good and meaty parts. Feathers were scattered all over the garage, including a large clump inside the coop. An alarming find.
It is not clear how the suspect entered both the hallowed sanctuary of the garage AND the coop. The locks did not appear to be tampered with.
Balls died near one of the rogue hen’s nests — apart from the others, on a small square of carpet.
We can only assume he was protecting the eggs and the rest of the hens from this godless, soulless predator.
Based on the fact that only the head was eaten, we think it was … a weasel. Seth saw a weasel not too long ago — unless it was someone’s pet ferret that had escaped.
When we told Seth’s grandfather of the tragedy, his prediction was grim:
A weasel? I don’t even know. Those things are real … bastards, he said.
Indeed, the “How to grow happy chickens” book we recently purchased confirmed grandfather’s fears.
“Of all the predators, I fear weasels the most,” the author said.
Weasels are impossible to trap, and they can kill up to 20 chickens per night.
Based on the fact that we have 4 hens remaining in our dwindling flock, that’s about … I don’t know. 45 seconds?
The good news is that this murder will have no immediate effect on our egg supply, unless the chickens are in mourning, but it will have an affect on how fun our flock has become.
Always to first to charge up the driveway, Balls was the most interactive chicken. I remember the first time, back in June, when I heard a tiny little crow. Seth wouldn’t believe me until we heard a strong cock-a-doodle-doo on our way into work one warm summer morning.
I remember the way he’d fight Maybel. And how, just a few mornings ago, I opened the coop to a ball of feathers and spurs at eye-level. But most of all, I’ll remember our time spent in the bathroom together, as I was cupping his frozen waddles. The man could jump high and pull off some matrix-style back kicks in his prime. Alas, they weren’t enough to combat the wretched weasel.
The point is this: first skunks, and now weasels.
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